Throw myself to the train

Fall into that sweet surrender,
clattering train wheels,
enveloping darkness, life’s final ending
Forty weeks of pain,
my tears for my daughter,
I’ve cried two rivers
her children, gone too,
I’m crying again.
The lights are gliding towards me.
I thought there would be more noise,
for this violence,
an ending that will make the press.
I’m slipping towards the track,
with the wheels making their advance
and releasing me from the rack
to go on and on as a frozen picture
this evening’s news, at a guess.
Headlines, inch high at the stations,
forty pence,
for these revelations,
tragic stories of my children,
murdered once,
by one of their parents
in a killing spree of selfish
proportions
that titillate and shock
our commuters and station’s patrons.
Mina threw herself to the train
killing her kids in her arms
murder, just the same.
Without excuse and totally to blame
and directly resulted in her mother’s
death,
thrown to the railway
in the same vein.

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